


Eyes on the Prize

by Saiyan_no_hime



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Baseball player Yamcha, Bathroom Sex, Cheerleader Bulma, Quarterback Vegeta, Rough Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 14:58:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13638591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saiyan_no_hime/pseuds/Saiyan_no_hime
Summary: There was no such thing as fairness in life, Vegeta knew. Not when a sleazy weakling such as the star baseball player had a woman like her, while he had nothing but his goals. Goals that they shared. That they worked for, together. A small part of him hoped that if he won this game, she'd be his. It was nothing but a foolish dream. How better than the scumbag was he, really?-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Submission to the 3rd Prompt (Just this Once) of the 2017 Fall Smutfest, delivered incredibly late.





	Eyes on the Prize

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this back in October for the third prompt of the Prince and the Heiress Community Smutfest and being the master of all procrastinators, only managed to finish it now, practically on top of the deadline. And I must confess that I had to cut much of the smut short, given how long it was getting. Apparently I really like to write Pining Vegeta. Anywho, I hope you'll be able to enjoy it even after all this time! 
> 
> Lastly I like to thank the administrators at the Prince and the Heiress Community for hosting these events, without them there'd be even less writing from me!
> 
> xxx  
> Saiyan-no-Hime

For a former gang member, known to disregard all manners of social norms and selfishly disdain others, Vegeta always had exceedingly strict morals regarding sex. Particularly, adultery. After watching as his father took several much younger women to bed night after night, only to parade them in front of his mother during his gatherings and company events, the young man sprouted a deep disgust for such disrespectful acts and breach of commitment. Having fully blossomed into a steel-clad resolve, the lad, now in his late teens, had vowed to never agree to such commitments, instead of carelessly breaking them every time another girl tickled his fancy.

That was, of course, before he met _her_.

Daughter of the most brilliant scientist of their generation, heiress to the richest company in the world, Prom Queen and girlfriend of the star-player of the Four Star High School baseball team; Bulma Briefs. Or how he referred to her: the Woman.

The most insufferable of all spoiled brats, pathetically weak and self-entitled, he loathed her with a passion. At the same time, the Woman possessed a sharp mind and quick tongue rivaled by none, graciously framed by her oh-so-enticing figure — curves and soft ridges sketched in alabaster, highly flammable.

Oh, how he had enjoyed setting her on fire with his stinging words, flushing that moonlight pale skin a healthy red, akin to the blood pumping through his veins. It gave him the rush of adrenaline he had thought he could only achieve through fighting.

He wanted her.  

Apparently, not as much as he wanted that fucking scholarship, since the quarterback was having trouble focusing properly, with her in that tiny cheerleader outfit, bouncing and twerking with her squad as she cheered for him from the sidelines. There was no way those clothes had any other purpose than to distract the players, what with the short skirt, the mid-calf socks and tight-fitted sweater top. Not that he’d ever had any problems with them in the past, no. Nothing ever got in the way of the Prince and his goal. Except for, as it now seemed, her.

The fiery blue of her eyes, the soft flush of her cheeks, one curvy hip pushed to the side, slenderly firm legs of the creamiest skin, those springy tits…

Wrenching his dark gaze away, Vegeta once more attempted to purge his mind of the damned woman — already taken, he reminded himself— and get his head back in the game. Even though the fiercest snarl slashed across his face as the quarterback braced himself for the next quarter, back hunched, knees open and flexed, hands at the ready, there was no ridding himself of the image of her. The ball in his hand, he rushed forward, dodging the grabby arms of his opponents.

Fortunately, the rival team seemed just as distracted by the Four Star Cheerleaders to give him any problem; ultimately, it was an easy win.

The moment the judge blew his whistle declaring the final quarter over, the field erupted in loud cheers. Straightening himself from his hunched position, Vegeta glanced at the score once for confirmation: they won. Instinctively, his eyes switched over to her.

Despite their arguing and banter, the woman was the one that came the closest to actually knowing him, nobody but her understanding how important this victory was for him. Bulma had watched him daily during her cheerleader practice, training himself raw to achieve it; had scolded him for pushing too hard, for abusing his body — whenever he felt like he wasn’t doing enough, she had been the one to get his head out of his ass and convince him to take a break for once. The heiress had believed in him, when nobody else seemed to care. Not for the school, not for the game, for him.

Slowly, the noisy celebrations all around him seemed to fade away, as if coming to him from across deep waters; his dark gaze focused solely on her. The huge smile on her face as she hugged friends in excitement, the bob of her side-ponytail every time she leaped into the air in their standard position, slender legs bent beside her before hitting the ground again, congratulating the players coming to her. And then she looked at him.

The quarterback’s eyes widened slightly as the cheerleader captain caught him staring, but he couldn’t wrench his gaze away from her bright baby-blues. Vegeta could feel his cheeks reddening faintly, matching the pink hue of her face. Her glossy lips then spread into a watery grin, something akin to pride glowing in the pools of blue, and he felt it echoing inside himself.

Finally, it downed on him: he had done it, he had won.

He had no time to relish that thought, though, as his teammates chose that precise moment to shower him in the green energy drink they kept by the bench. Shocked out of his trance, Prince turned his nastiest glare to the other players, shoving away those that weren’t smart enough to back away at his silent command. Shrugging off the pats on the back and responding to congratulations in his usual arrogant manner, he strutted through, making his way to the locker room.

He wasn’t one for celebrations, especially when the person he wanted to celebrate with was already taken.

_Stop it!_

She’s not all that, he told himself. You don’t celebrate, period. It has nothing to do with the woman’s relationship status. You don’t even know if she’s going out with that idiot tonight — it’s none of your fucking business. Get over yourself.

Still muttering to himself, the quarterback shoved the locker-room door open angrily, halting immediately upon the sight that welcomed him.

“Ten consecutive victories.” Purred the woman, back against the sink, devil-lips quirked to the side. “Now you’ve done it, Prince.”

His hungry albeit startled gaze swept up from the top of her blue striped socks to the darker hue of her eyes, before he caught himself and snarled.

“What do you want?” eyes darting down once again to her chest, he crossed his arms and forced himself to focus on her face. “You lost or something? Last I checked this was the male locker-room and you didn’t have anything hanging down between your legs.”

“Oh?” Vegeta couldn’t help gulping when she ran the tip of her tongue over her upper teeth, stepping away from the sink, cocking one hip to the side and bracing it in her delicate hand. “And when did you check that?”

Out of their own volition, his eyes lowered to the apex of her thighs, hidden beneath the short skirt, and he felt his face heating up again. He scowled at her.

Damn woman.

“What, that wimpy boyfriend of yours isn’t taking care of business?”

It was a low shot and he knew it. He knew all her weak spots. Proof of that was her reaction, her head turning to the side, jaw clenched and eyes closed. He almost regretted bringing up that scumbag. Almost. He needed to remind himself she wasn’t available, lest he did something he would actually regret.

Like fucking her against that sink.

Dark eyes falling once again to her skirt and glazing over, his day-dreaming was cut short with the sudden turn of her head, cherry lips pursed and a purposeful glimmer in those cerulean eyes. Once again, Vegeta checked himself, narrowing his gaze upon the brisk change in mood.

“Why?” demanded the woman in a husky tone, approaching him with swaying hips and a smoldering gaze.

His throat went dry, the Prince was barely able to choke out a reply.

“Why, what?”

A manicured finger touched his chest, just above the numbers on his jersey, and he jumped slightly, arms to the side, glancing down quickly to the offending digit and then to the quirk of a light-blue brow, forewarning the hushed-out question.

“Why do you wanna know?” she elaborated.

Before the quarterback could begin to think on an acceptable response, however, the intrusive finger began tracing down his chest, slowly, robbing his brain of precious blood flow and re-directing it downwards. All he could do was stare at her coquettish expression, a few locks of pure aqua brushing against her cheek as she tilted her head softly to the side. “Wanna make up for it?”

He yelped, then, balking comically as she cupped his stiffening member through his trousers, gasping at the feel. “Is that your jock-strap or you’re just that happy to see me?”

The mocking tone and the soft giggle that followed spurred his brain, his pride once again rearing its ugly head. With a narrowed glare and a snarl, his hand darted down, capturing her exploring one in an iron-grip, uncaring of the frail skin. It was a joke. That was all he was to her, the private joke of an entitled bitch, so bored with her own picture-perfect life that she played around with him like a cat with a mouse. There was no other explanation for her odd behavior.

Despite his position at the Four Star High football team, he knew there was no way he was deserving of the brilliant heiress’s attention. The orphaned son of a failed businessman, a raging alcoholic that ran a multi-million company into bankruptcy after the death of his wife, Vegeta Prince didn’t have much going for him. While Bulma… She had everything. 

 _Almost everything_ , he rectified, thinking about her unfaithful boyfriend.

The quarterback had lost count of how many times he had seen the star of the baseball team, her chosen one, slobbering over all sorts of chicks indecently. The guy went through the school’s female population like a bulldozer, humping every skirt that crossed his path, inconsiderate of his girlfriend’s feelings. He remembered wondering if she ever caught wind of it, smart as she was.

That must be it, he concluded.

All the attention the woman had bestowed on him these past few weeks, tending to his injuries and wounded ego, pretending to care. She was not interested in him, of course not. How could she be?! No, all she wanted was revenge. That’s what he was to her, a way to get back at the weakling for his infidelities; nothing but a means to an end.

“Just because your boyfriend’s too busy chasing skirts to give you the time of day, doesn’t mean I’ll waste my time with your needy ass.” Prince growled to her face, watching it fall at the insult.

Vegeta swallowed hard at the crestfallen look on her porcelain face, repressing the guilt that swirled like acid in his gut as her disgruntled gaze fell to his mouth. He shouldn’t feel sorry for her, wouldn’t feel sorry for her. Not after realizing she was using him. But… He couldn’t help but understand where she was coming from. A woman like her…

His gaze followed the trail of a sole tear down her flushed cheek, his grip on her wrist slacking as he was hit with the urge to wipe it off with his thumb. She deserved more than that poor excuse for a man, than an idiot who couldn’t appreciate the goddess that honored him with her attention. She shouldn’t have to want for anything.

Someone to share her inside jokes; a shoulder to cry on…

A man to quell her womanly desires.

“Vegeta…” she murmured hoarsely, looking up at him from beneath fair lashes, and he was disarmed by the sheer need he saw in the depths of fiery blue. “I don’t… I want— just this once…”

Her free hand rose to his chest, fisting in his jersey desperately. He couldn’t avert his gaze from hers, though. The watery blue, so close to overflowing… Her short breaths ghosting over his face, she was so close —his mouth parted out of its own volition. He could give it to her.

Against all of his deep-set beliefs, his pride; the circumstances and the odds… Vegeta knew in that moment that he would put all that aside, for the woman. It was a frightening discovery, assuaged only by the understanding of the selfishness hiding in the act. The Prince ached to feel her slender body writhing against his, longed to brand the porcelain skin as his, if just for once. He was acutely aware that he was no good for her, no; he’d taint all that was lively and spirited, as he always did — and then he’d leave her. That was the only way it could go. If he was being truly considerate, he’d walk away on her now.

But she had asked for it. Conniving bitch that she was, the heiress was using him. He wouldn’t let himself forget that. A means to an end, nothing more. Despite the roaring of his need, demanding to make her his for good, to keep any other male away from such a prized possession, his pride conceded that it would be a fair trade. He would use her as she meant to use him, tossing her aside as she was wont to do. An eye for an eye.

Finally, the Prince’s heart hardened and his gaze sharpened on West City’s Prized Princess. Primal hunger seeped into the dark orbs with foreboding intent and the cheerleader shuddered under his assessment, realizing the quarterback was no longer under her control. The hand that once gripped hers hiked up her arm and over a shoulder, to close around her throat and cup her jaw sternly. And then his mouth descended on hers, sucking her in. She had done it.

A deal with the devil.

His voraciousness literally took her breath away, his mouth demanding as it carelessly plundered hers. Bulma’s brilliant mind drew a blank as she melted against him, trying her hardest to keep up. Forgetting all about her recent break-up, the cheerleader threw herself into the passion of the kiss, knees growing unsteady as his expert tongue brushed sinuously against hers, in a level she hadn’t ever experienced before. Something quivered in her midriff.

She would give in to her secret urges, just this once.

Or so she thought, before he abruptly broke away from her, uncaring of how much she was leaning on him. It was all she could do to keep herself from falling face first on the wet floor of the male locker-room and, when she did, she gaped at his retreating back, as he made his way to the sinks. “Hey-!”

Any tirade about to fall from carefully tended lips —she’d had just enough time to re-apply her lipstick before he came in— was lost on the way from her brain to her voice-box, as the former shortcut upon noticing what he was doing, now facing her.  Her now-wide eyes fell to his callous hands, as they plucked the button of his pants free from its hole and pulled the zipper down to its max, freeing his impressive girth, no jock-strap in sight; it was all him. Despite feeling his drilling glare on her, the heiress could do nothing more than stare at the new addition to the party.

A nervous laugh issued from her lips in a hush from the unexpected sight, as she admired the length of him. It wasn’t all that long, his girth way more exciting in her eyes, being used as she was to Yamcha’s average built—and he sure never presented it with the nonchalance and bold confidence the quarterback so easily exuded. Suddenly, Bulma felt self-conscious about her lack of experience, only ever having been with her boyfriend and certainly not used to facing such a veiny member so openly. Against her natural confidence, her cheeks colored and she conscientiously bit down on her lip.

“Well?” pressed the Prince harshly, all authority in his husky baritone, and when she finally looked up to his impassive expression and hard eyes, he took hold of himself purposefully. “What are you waiting for? The red carpet?”

It dawned on the brilliant heiress, then —ashamedly late, she berated herself—, what the quarterback wanted her to do. This understanding gave her pause, balking like a doe caught in headlights; for all her crudeness in manners, the cheerleader was the least experienced of all her friends, being used to Yamcha’s sticking-and-quitting routine, with barely enough time for a few sloppy kisses and heavy petting. She hadn’t the faintest on giving head. Unfortunately for her, in that moment, her true colors shined through brightly, her worldly façade flushing down the drain. The sardonic twist of his lips told her he had caught on to her… deficiency.

“What? You suddenly a prude?” he riled her, punctuating his speech with a stroke of his hand around his shaft, momentarily distracting her, before his next remark sent her reeling. “No wonder the weakling had to look elsewhere.”

That was all it took. Anger filled her so completely that she straightened her back and narrowed sharp eyes into her current tormentor, his scathing remark prompting the fury which now clouded her brain, shielding her torn pride from the assault and fuming for a retraction. Despite her lack of experience, she was far from innocent and at his blatant challenge was driven to proving him wrong, much like it happened during most of their arguments. It most certainly hadn’t been her fault that her boyfriend couldn’t keep it in his pants and she’d make sure that the quarterback knew that, no matter the consequences.

Approaching steadfast in her resolve, the heiress braced both hands on the sink, one beside each of his hips, to level her haughty gaze to his impatient one, lips curled back in a snarl.

“Think you’re ready, tough guy?”

“Hn, do your worst, woman.”

Without further preamble, she fell to her knees.

Vegeta couldn’t help the shiver that trailed down his spine, gripping the edge of the sink on both sides for added support as the woman took him in her talented hands. He had entertained the possibility of this being the first time she did something like this and his balls tightened at the notion, the Prince relishing being the only one thus far graced with such a service. There was no sign of hesitation in her ministrations, however, blue eyes shining defiantly up at him from beneath her lashes, tongue-in-cheek as she worked him.

Then his head lolled back as the woman started mouthing his length, sparks shooting up from his sac, making his cock twitch beneath her lips. The quarterback could swear he felt her smirking against him, but was too far gone to care much at the slight. His knuckles paled as his grip to the sink tightened when she decided to give his sensitive head a wet peck. He closed his eyes while exhaling heavily through his nose. Fuck, the woman was good. If she really hadn’t experience, she surely made up for it with natural talent.

Her devious tongue came out to play, tracing teasing circles over his slit and this time there was no stopping the groan that issued from his throat. Seizing up on his high, she took the chance to suck the tip of him inside her warm mouth, her tongue tending to the underside. His hips jutted forward of their own accord in response and she stuttered around him, one hand fisting his base as the other pushed back on his stomach to stop him. The Prince drew another deep breath in an attempt to regain control; the last thing he wanted was to cut his pleasure short by choking her so inadvertently. 

The cheerleader drew back to fix him a glare, her hand continuing to pump him leisurely in her mouth’s absence. “Slow down, big guy, we’re taking this at my pace.”

A surge of unexpected pride welled inside him at being called ‘big’, prompting a cocky grin to flash quickly on his face, any remark he was planning on doing choked behind the gasp that fell from his lips once she took him back into her mouth, while still pumping him steadily. Vegeta was then hit by the unnerving prospect of not lasting much longer, the odds stacking highly against him as she brought her other hand down to fondle his balls.

As if sensing that he was nearing the finish line, the woman pulled her mouth away from him with a small ‘pop’, not giving him enough time to mourn the loss of her lips before he felt them petal-soft against the tender skin of his testicle. Giving in to the change, the quarterback widened his stance, leaning back more heavily on the sink with his elbows. The new angle the position afforded prompted the cheerleader to suckle softly on his swollen nut and the quarterback grew weak at the knees, sweat breaking on his forehead as he dipped his flushed face forward to take a peek at her. Her timing was spot on, since she swiftly rose her gaze to meet his, her short bangs fluttering against the matching perspiration on her skin while she sucked him deeper into the warmth of her mouth.

A large vein throbbed beneath her still pumping hand, steering her attention back to the hard member already leaking at the tip. Vegeta watched in rapture, then, as she ran her tongue up from his balls to the flushed head and took him almost all the way inside. His sweaty palms were sliding haphazardly over the countertop as he struggled to get a grip onto something, to keep himself from bucking wildly into the soft cavern of her mouth.

Uncaring of his precarious condition, spurred on by his gasps and groans now falling freely from his lips like a heathen prayer, she fastened the pace, coming up and down on his shaft rapidly. The hand that previously gripped his base now moved to his thigh, brushing past and taking hold of his bottom, pulling him closer as her watery eyes shone pleadingly, urging him deeper. His glazed eyes widened at her silent plea, immediately dropping any pretense at control and bringing a palm to her nape to direct his slowly-building thrusts.

Soon he was lost to pleasure, fucking her mouth so thoroughly that tears ran down her cheeks, but the woman never stopped. Nose flaring as she took desperate breaths, he watched unflinchingly as she swept forward to meet his powerful thrusts out of her own accord, the guiding hand at her neck more of a support to him than her at this point, and he sobbed breathless at the mounting pleasure as he felt the built up cresting into a humongous wave that broke all over him, seizing his honed body into spasms too grand for him to fathom, his vision hazy, all he could distinguish in front of him being the blue of her eyes.  He spilled into her throat and she spluttered before instinctively swallowing, milking his shaft through his powerful climax until it slipped out of her mouth limply, completely spent.  

“Fuck.”

“Not too shabby for someone that can’t keep a man, huh?”

Bright spots swirling in front of his vision, it took a while for Vegeta to notice that Bulma was no longer kneeling in front of him. The disoriented quarterback lolled his head to the side upon hearing her voice beside him at the sink, frowning at the acidic tone. Synapses low from his post-orgasmic high, he watched her wipe the stains of her lipstick to then reapply the coral pink color with nonchalance, which confused him. What? Why was she ignoring him so blatantly? Was she pissed that he came in her mouth? That she had to swallow it? She had been the one that pleaded for him to fuck her!

“You know,” she started, once finished with the lipstick, fixing her ‘do in the mirror before turning her icy glare on him. “I hope you enjoyed this, Prince.”

He straightened up at the haughty note, squaring up to her with a scowl. The fuck was the problem with the woman!

“Because that’s all you’re ever gonna get from me!” the cheerleader captain grabbed her pom-poms off the sink and turned to leave, cursing over her shoulder: “JERK!”

Then it downed on him, the loud bang of the door closing behind her wiping the lasts remnants of afterglow off his system, effectively sobering him up. He was a fucking moron! He hadn’t meant to blame her for the weakling’s indiscretions, but his pride reacted instinctively upon her lack of response to his prompt. There was just something about the woman that goaded him to anger her, to rile her up. He had challenged her skills and she had proven them to him out of spite, providing him with pleasure he had never felt before. But at what cost?!

Fuck, he didn’t even get to feel her tits or even her ass… And now he was never going to!

His fist collided with one of the blue lockers, denting the metal before running through his unruly mane nervously. This is why he didn’t fucking deserve her!

Fingers pressing painfully to his lids, Vegeta Prince cursed himself, having once again managed to ruin one of the few good things in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Hoped you liked it! There is fanart to go along with this and you can find it on my tumblr, user not-actually-a-drama-queen, in the doodles section! Don't forget to comment and send those kudos my way! Who knows, I might feel motivated enough to post this spring's smutfest submissions in time!
> 
> xxx  
> Saiyan-no-Hime


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